Finn found a comfortable position, leaned back with his arms folded over his chest in a way that if he chose it he could fall asleep at will. He'd spent a week solid on a poor excuse of a bed and it was no secret that he was aching more than normal. No blanket, no pillows weren't an issue even, finding cushion even in the itchiest of hay was more enjoyable than a plank of wood. Even Eli's dining chair was more comfortable to settle in than any corner of his cell. Sleeping in Eli's modest house would be a strange night indeed with a shaky priest somewhere inside, wondering and waiting if Finn would try and slip out in the night. To steal away with his small belongings, or worse –  even kill him? No, it was too malicious to even think of the idea of wronging Eli in that way. He might be a criminal, a poor excuse for a man and perhaps his soul was going straight south to the devil according to Eli's Holy Book, but he wasn't a cruel man. A liar, a cheat and a rogue all in one, but not a monster. 

Finn had met monsters. He'd seen and heard of terrible deeds that made his stomach churn and lurch like any sane person would in reaction to his own crimes. Finn liked to think of himself as a sensible criminal himself. The type who didn't go out of his way to kill but wouldn't blink if he had to send a bullet through a man for getting in his way or spouting off something he really didn't like. But to kill Eli in his sleep would be downright low. If Finn  were going to escape he was going to have to get a few things together, not just crawl free like a trapped animal. Which is exactly why he decided to humor himself.

Finn stretched out his hand, spinning the book so that it was facing him. He sat there for a moment with pursed lips, shrugged, then confessed casually, “Don't know how to read.”